The church at its best
Sitting in Sunday school one morning. A pleasant surprise. First a confession from a leader named Bob. Then the spontaneous response.
Bob’s been through a lot in the last year. The sudden death of a young mother within his extended family. Painful and scary health issues for him and his wife and their adult children.
In addition, he and a few of his cousins have decided to take a road trip to visit some places with special connections to their childhood. They all agreed that it would be best if Bob would organize it. He’s excited about the trip, but putting it together is a big job, and he feels kind of lost as he tries to figure out the details regarding where and when and how.
Today, as expected, he opens the class with greetings and announcements. Then, unexpectedly, the confession. He’s struggling with all the stresses in his life right now. He’s feeling small and and weak and overwhelmed. With drooping shoulders and a weary expression on his face, he asks for our prayers.
Next the spontaneous response. Sylvia stands up, pulls an empty chair out from a table, and tells Bob to sit down. A group gathers around him and places their hands on his head and shoulders. They take several minutes to pray out loud for him. After the final “Amen!,” I turn to the friend next to me with a hint of tears in my eyes and say, “I love this church!”
We’re not a charismatic church or class. Some hands are raised during the worship service, and once every few years we lay hands on someone to pray for them, but most of us express our love and gratitude and dedication to God more calmly and quietly.
Personal prayer requests tend to be limited to concerns about health issues, jobs, or travel safety. The externals, not the internals. When I’m praying at home, I have to remind myself to extend my intercession to include the spiritual side as well as the physical.
This morning we’ve broken through a barrier that prevents us from sharing more deeply. A leader in the class has admitted his weakness by asking for prayer for his emotional and spiritual needs. He had the courage to make himself vulnerable to accusations from the evangelically correct: If he was really a good Christian, he should be strong enough to handle all this. If he was really a good Christian, he should trust God better.
And we didn’t respond in judgment. We didn’t rush to assure Bob that God is in control, so he should just accept the situation and be happy. Our hearts were open to his pain. We valued his spontaneous confession. We surrounded him with love and understanding and prayers.
This is the church at its best.
The foundation
How did we get here?
Church leadership has a lot to do with it. Our head pastor sets an example. He’s real. Human. We know that he faces the same struggles as we do.
Recently, a friend and I were talking about the strengths in our church. Without going into the specific details, she told me that several years ago she had asked Pastor for guidance regarding a problem within her family. Over time it became clear that his advice was pretty bad.
She went back to him feeling disappointed and a bit angry. He freely admitted that he was wrong and humbly apologized. No attempt to justify himself or to place the blame on her.
During the time that I’ve been going to this church, I’ve seen Pastor grow spiritually and in his ability to communicate more compassionately. I don’t know that I could say that about any other pastor in any other church that I’ve belonged to.
The age of my Sunday school classmates might have something to do with it, too. I’m in my mid-sixties. More than half of the class is older than me.
Several have lost spouses and adult children. Many have chronic health problems. A few are experiencing financial difficulties. Some grieve over children who are abusing drugs or alcohol or who’ve strayed from the Truth. At least one has had to face the trial of seeing her son sent to prison on drug-related charges after years of attempts to get him through rehab successfully.
Suffering tends to either drive people apart or draw them together. We tend to respond to it in one of three ways: by denying the pain, by doing the opposite and constantly griping about it, or by working through our sorrow with the support of those around us.
In my experience in the past, many church members who were hurting either left or felt pressured to pretend in order to continue attending. I don’t know if there’s been a shift among evangelicals in general or if my church is an exception to the rule, but more people here seem to remain through the tough times as they draw together and reach out for support.
Maybe we can be trusted with our leader’s vulnerability because we’ve been in his shoes and we’re willing to admit it.
Room to grow
As good as it is, my church has its shortcomings, too. Some of the teaching is shallower than I’d like it to be, but it’s better than other churches that I’ve been in. In spite of our concern for each other, as demonstrated this morning, it can be difficult to build deep relationships.
One of the biggies that grieves me is the lack of children in the Worship Center. They call the service “big church.” As if it’s only for big people. As if they don’t belong there. They worship in their own groups with others their own age.
What will happen down the road when they graduate out of those groups and their only choice of where and when to worship at church is in the main sanctuary, with people who are all older than they are? Will they be mature enough to appreciate worship that doesn’t focus on the needs and preferences of a narrow range of ages? Or will they simply walk away?
So my church isn’t perfect. But I love it anyway. I pray that we would continue to follow God faithfully and to grow in Him. And that He would protect us from the attacks of Satan as we do that.
